


When it happens

by KimberlyAlexis



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: First Kiss, M/M, Post His Last Vow, Post series 03, might write more on this one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-31
Updated: 2016-08-31
Packaged: 2018-08-12 04:49:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7921165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KimberlyAlexis/pseuds/KimberlyAlexis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John has moved back into Baker Street and isn't dating. They move closer and yet it doesn't happen....</p>
            </blockquote>





	When it happens

It doesn’t happen like John expects it to. It doesn’t happen after a case when they’ve returned home out of breath and panting for air. Or even after a brush with death because one of them (Sherlock) did something monumentally stupid which caused the killer to get the jump on them. It doesn’t happen after they both get far too tipsy and only through the interference of Mycroft manage to make it home without walking into traffic. It didn’t even happen after Sherlock died and came back or after John got married then divorced and finally (After months of wasting money on a bedsit even though he often ended up staying over) moved back into Baker street.

It didn’t happen, but that isn’t to say things didn’t change just a bit.

A charge in the air that seemed to crackle and fade as they both entered then left the same spaces in the flat.

A sense they’d found a rhythm they’d both worried was lost long ago.

John washed up the dishes. And sometimes Sherlock dried.

Sherlock looked into his microscope at a disgusting maggot he’d harvested. And John merrily drank his tea while sitting not far away.

The near brushes and touches were nothing new though. They’d always been loose with those before. At least Sherlock had been and John fell into the groove easily.

The dinners together were new. They'd never found time like this before. Often running on no fuel or takeaway leftovers.

The other new thing was John’s refusal to date. It wasn't as if people were knocking down the door to get at the newly divorced man, but he also didn't try. He'd decided there was no need. Not if--no. He didn't want to acknowledge it. It was there more or less. Maybe it was already happening. Maybe they'd talk soon. Maybe.

***

Sherlock hadn’t moved from the couch all day and though he hadn’t said he was bored, John was sure he’d soon hear the oft made complaint. After all Sherlock'd gone all day and it was nearing half past nine. So John steadfast read his novel.

At this very minute the spy, Rick Rickson (“That’s a ridiculous name you know, John.” “Shut up, Sherlock”), was about to finally find out who was the head of the League of World Doom (“Oh really. Is that what criminal organizations do? Announce their intentions to the world with a name like that?” “Shut UP, Sherlock.”) And John wanted to finish this novel today. Sherlock was right that it wasn’t a good novel, but he had read every other Rick Rickson novel and old habits die hard.

John turned the page where the revelation of the leader’s identity would surely be held. Sherlock stirred. He turned over on the couch and looked at John. John hadn’t meant to immediately take his eyes off the page, but he couldn’t quite stop himself. Sherlock commanded attention or rather John always found himself at attention when Sherlock was around. John braced for the word “bored” to spills from Sherlock’s lips but instead Sherlock’s hand untucked itself from around his body.

He wore an inside-out t-shirt, pyjama bottoms, and his lightest dressing gown. The dressing gown had draped itself over the front of Sherlock and that seemed to be the hands mission--to pull it back. He did so with a flourish and the dressing gown’s lower half flew behind him and tucked itself away behind him. With this action somehow the bottom of his shirt had inched up just a bit revealing a slither of skin.

Not an uncommon thing to happen but what was uncommon was Sherlock was staring at John and he slowly moved his hand down towards the spot. He gave a gentle scratch to the barely there hair but never took his eyes off John.

John only realized this as he peripherally notices Sherlock’s head. John’s eyes were busy following Sherlock’s hand. Hypnotically so.

“John.” Sherlock breathed out. Nothing more. And because John had heard his name said by Sherlock in a variety of ways , but never THIS way John’s eyes snapped back from his leer and stared at Sherlock.

He was never as adept with reading people as Sherlock was but right now John could read Sherlock like a book. The desperate look of longing, the steadying breaths, and the dilated pupils were all big helps in explaining what Sherlock wanted.

John bit his lip. It wasn’t supposed to happen like this. There were other eventualities he’d planned for, but never this. Having gone through the various crises of who he was and what he wanted all the while trying to maintain the facade of normal friendship wasn’t an issue. He’d treated it as something to prepare for, one day they’d find there way here. One day they’d talk and understand each other and he wasn’t sure what would happen, but he knew they’d need to talk first. It was the only way to make it work. Talking, he’d learned in therapy, was necessary.

Sherlock’s hand stilled then. John’s eyes snapped back to it and just as his eyes landed on the thin fingers, Sherlock moved his hand down to his waist. At first he slipped a sole finger in the waistband and seemed to draw a circle on his skin.It was here that John realized he’d dropped his book because he own hand, free of any distractions of ridiculously named spies, moved to grip the arm of his chair. He shifted his body towards Sherlock. Spoke not a word. His eyes followed Sherlock’s hand as he removed the one finger and instead put his whole hand inside his pants and, there was no confusion about this, took his cock in his hand and gave a stroke.

“Sher-” John started to say. But it started out with the first syllable of Sherlock's name and ended a moan. A needy one at that.

John’s eyes temporarily went back to Sherlock’s face to see if there was shock or disgust or whatever on his face after John’s moan.

He saw none of those emotions. There was a hint of a smile. His eyes were half-lidded. His mouth parted. If he had to name it, delight would be the best way to describe it. And then his eyes closed.

Sherlock didn't waste time then. He sped up his strokes and bit his lip. A moan still found a way to escape. The delicious sound floating between them and linking them. Because once John heard the sound he was gone. He didn't care if this was normal or okay. He just wanted to stay here in this moment with Sherlock.

His left hand left the chair and instead found its way on the top of his trousers . A ghost of touch over his crotch. And he was bursting. If Sherlock were to look over he would see John's erection desperate to get out.

John considered it. He really did, but if he missed one moment of what Sherlock was doing in front of him he'd hate himself. Who knew if or when this would happen again. So he put his hand back on the arm of the chair and just watched. He could wank later with all the memories he'd have of this moment.

Sherlock opened his eyes then. Looked over at him. Eyes seeming to take in him and his decision. A smile blossomed on Sherlock's face.   
And then Sherlock’s hips jerked forward millimeters. That barely there movement made John feel so far away.

There was no thought. He stood up and walked over. Then sat positioning himself on the coffee table. This seemed to please Sherlock who decided to free himself. Slithering out of his pyjama bottoms with apparently no pants in the way. His cock sprang free as he dropped one leg off the side of the couch.

He then went back at it with a stroke and another and another. He licked his lips and jutted his hips forward. And John had never seen anyone ever look so tantalizing in his entire life. He'd never wanted to touch anyone more.

Sherlock's free hand made an appearance then. First sliding up to his mouth for a lick, then down to tease one nipple and finally sliding south. Sherlock brought up his leg to bend at the knee and maneuvered until he was able to get a finger positioned to slide in and out of his gentle pucker. Even as at the same time he continued his strokes.

But then that did it and he stilled for a second before shaking and spurting out come over his hand and belly. Desperate moans of sexual release pouring out of him.

John couldn't stop himself then he leaned over and kissed Sherlock swallowing down the moans. His hand coming to rest atop Sherlock’s still stroking hand, easing him through the rest of the orgasm.

Sherlock kissed him back with such gentle yet ferocious vigor. The kiss took several routes from passionate to sweet. Soft nibbling and tongues swept in and out of the others mouths. Finally Sherlock pulled back. His and John’s hands had stilled but it was still covering Sherlock’s half-erect penis.

Sherlock looked at John and gave a gentle smile then blinked three times and closed his eyes.

John seemed to know this was a sign that it was over. He stood letting go of Sherlock and walked to the bathroom for a flannel. He came back and cleaned up Sherlock and kissed him on the forehead the dropped the flannel off in the loo before heading up to his bed.

He wasn't sure if this counted as it happening. Once again Sherlock left him confused. But they'd shared this and that had to mean something. Didn't it?

When a sated John came back down half hour later Sherlock still hadn't stirred. So John decided that meant the day was over. He washed and went to bed. In the morning they'd talk, he thought. In the morning they'll decide if this was really happening. 


End file.
